Slops’ fitful sleep was disturbed once again by the chiming of the clock. She sat up, wondering what on earth the next spirit would show her.
A deep and jolly laugh resounded from beyond the chamber door and, although Slops was still somewhat afraid, she could not help but allow a small smile to grace her lips as the laugh was so warm and joyous. Slops opened the chamber door and stared in wonder, for heaped up on the floor were turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meat, sucking-pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince-pies, plum-puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch, that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam. In amongst all this, to form a sort of throne were piles of perfectly roasted potatoes, each one glistening in its crisp skin.
Atop this potato throne sat a giant of a man in black and white checked trousers and a pristine white coat. His bald head gleamed, his round rosy cheeks glowed and his eyes sparkled as he beckoned Slops in with another resounding chuckle. “Come in, come in and know me better.”
Slops tentatively entered the room, awestruck at the feast before her. Never before had she seen food like it, neither sloppy like gruel, nor solid like an over cooked loaf, but succulent and crisp and filling the room with a thousand delectable scents.
“Come in,” repeated the spirit. “I am the Ghost of Griftmas Present, although those close to me may call me Fingers. Would you like a potato?”
“No, thank you,” replied Slops, admiring the spirit’s handsome clothing.
“Well,” said the spirit, placing his hands on his knees and rising to his full height which reached the very ceiling of Slop’s house, “we have much to see and the day grows short.”
“What shall we see?” asked Slops, eager to understand what the spirit would show her.
“Why, it is Christmas Day, of course. We shall see the celebrations of Christmas.”
Slops was unconvinced but uttered her, “Humbug. Toot toot,” quietly, under her breath, so that the spirit might not hear it.
The spirit led Slops outside into the snowy streets of Southend, where many a reveller was preparing for a Christmas spent with friends and family.
Inside a festive ale house, a small group of friends were celebrating. “Here’s to you,” one woman said to another, “And may the new year bring you peace.”
“Oh,” cried Slops. “That’s my old agent, Rosemary. And my landlady. And there’s CarolineWhoHasHands. I didn’t know they were friends.”
Slops watched the group exchange gifts and laugh together, wondering why she had never attended any of the Christmas drinks her agent had invited her to. They were having such a jolly time.
Rosemary raised her glass to make a toast and the others quietened down. “I would just like to say,” Rosemary began, “That the last few years have been hard toil, as we all know. But the future is looking brighter for us all now we have all cut ties — or almost done so —“ She looked at the landlady. “With Jackenezer Slops. May our years be long and our days free of Slops!”
Everyone cheered and clinked their glasses. Slops was silent for a moment.
“Perhaps we might see some other Christmas celebrations now,” Slops suggested to the spirit, who had produced a large roast potato from his pocket and was eating it like an apple. “This one has left a slightly sour taste in my mouth.”
“Indeed, indeed, my time grows short,” agreed the spirit through a mouthful of potato, and soon they were walking through a rather drearier part of town.
“What place is this?” asked Slops, shocked at the true poverty signified by the damp walls and meagre portions enjoyed by those within.
“This is Patrons’ Alley,” the spirit replied. “All who live here are your Patrons, although not all of your Patrons live here.”
Slops stared in wonderment for she did indeed have many Patrons who supplied a considerable stipend for her every month. She had never really considered who they were or what their own lives were like.
Slops and the spirit watched through the windows of one house where warmth and love and Christmas cheer filled every inch from the mismatched chairs to the threadbare carpets. “How can they be so cheerful when they have so little?” Slops remarked.
“To many, the true meaning of Christmas is time with loved ones and gifts of time and charity,” explained the spectre. “They do not have much, but what they do have they share.”
“I do not think I ever understood that,” said Slops, thoughtfully. “But their joy and companionship is clear, even though they want for so much.”
“My time here is almost at an end,” the spirit said. “One more ghost yet remains.”
The town clock began to strike midnight and a chill wind whipped through Slops’ hair as the figure before her grew fainter and fainter.
“Spirit, wait!” she cried. “I think I understand now.”
But the spirit was gone and Slops was alone
Now she's apparently having food delivered to a random address she thought she'd be living in by now!?